


through the spring and the winter and the mourning

by thunder_rolled_a_six



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, could be read as ferol but really theyre just being sad, im sad!!!!, sad!!!, spring 12 spoilers, wild speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 08:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17300876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunder_rolled_a_six/pseuds/thunder_rolled_a_six
Summary: Fero and Samol have a conversation, after it happens.(SPOILERS FOR THE END OF SPRING 12)





	through the spring and the winter and the mourning

"Hey, old man."

Samol only half stirs from his position on the back steps of The Outhouse. Fero barely catches his eye before he goes back to staring out at the world, at walls of light and dark, at the new growth. The failed plans of his sons, the remains of his grandchild. Fero clenches and unclenches his fist a few times, nervous, filled with a dreadful and removed grief. He didn't know Samot, but the slow, dull despair rolling off Samol makes his eyes sting. He takes a deep breath and worms his way in next to him on the stoop. Samol exhales, not a laugh, not a rejection.

"He's... gone?"

Samol nods. Fero stares up at him. He seems even older, somehow. His hands tremble, there are new lines on his already bark-like face. Fero doesn't know what to say, so he continues to watch, studying Samol like he would an animal he wants to transform into. How he might stretch to fill his height, how he would get the amused tilt to his mouth so often present and striking now in its absence. He wonders if, when he turned to sand, to stone, if he was turning into Samol. How much of Samol? Could he turn into him entirely, take the misery from his shoulders and carry it himself? He wonders how it felt when the sand disappeared, what wound he is responsible for. 

Time is a funny thing and Fero is unsure of how much passes before Samol speaks. "I didn't think ... I didn't think I'd have to bury him. My son. I thought I'd be... gone, by then." 

Fero watches, still as a mouse, still as stone.

"His hair was so long. Used to brush it, when he was a boy. It'd get into a tangled mess otherwise, he hated doing it himself." 

Still, still and quiet. 

"The little fool-" Samol's voice breaks and Fero's heart breaks and he moves, taking his hand. Samol holds tight. "This isn't how it should have happened. I don't- I don't want this-" He curls forward, struggling in shallow breaths, and Fero curls too, close. Presses his face into Samol's shirt sleeve, smells dirt. Samot's in the ground, Samol can probably feel him. How horrible, how just so uselessly bad. Fero can't stand it, can't stand that there's nothing he can do to fix it.

"I didn't- Fero, I didn't listen to him, always. He'd call and I wouldn't-  It's stupid, I should've just  _ talked _ to him-"

"You did, sometimes. You did. I'm sure he- appreciated it." The words feel like ash in Fero's mouth. Platitudes. "I'm sure he fucking hated you sometimes.” Samol likes it, when Fero is rude. Fero doesn’t know if that counts, right now, but thinks it’s better than the other thing, than pointless reasurances. He can offer truths. “I know he loved you." 

Samol clutches at Fero's hand, his shoulder, the one made of flesh. Fero thinks it might bruise. He wraps his free arm around the shaking man, gently, gingerly. No need to add physical pain. Samol weeps. Fero keeps breathing his dirt scent. When he was away, when he left Samol, whenever he'd stop and rest, that smell would be everywhere, everything smelled like him. Fero feels dizzy for a moment, suddenly understanding that Samol will be gone, too, and that smell will still be everywhere. He won't answer. That's what it means. He’ll be dead and Fero can ask questions and he will never again get a response. His own breathing stutters, his own tears begin to fall. It’s not fair, maybe, to do his own grieving right now, but it’s too much, too terrible to suddenly face. 

It gets colder, it gets darker. Samol has stilled now, too. Mouse. Stone. Fero leads him inside, to a free room, a free bed. Samol doesn’t speak, doesn’t resist. Fero leaves only briefly, to grab extra blankets. Samol takes his hand again, as soon as he’s returned to his side. Fero pulls the blankets over him, struggling a bit with only one free arm. He climbs into the space left at Samol's side, folds himself down small as he can, like a cat, a ball, a knot. He doesn't need to sleep. He can hold vigil here, where he can feel the rise and fall of Samol's chest, physical assurance of his continued existence.

“Don’t leave.” It’s whispered. Fero barely hears it in the dark room. “I can’t- don’t leave, too.”

“I won’t.” A truth. All he can give. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in a blind panic after the episode last night and barely refrained from posting immediately at 1:30 am pst. I am filled with nervous energy. I'm sad.


End file.
